The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(53)

“Yes, Jane. It’s very clear that you’re afraid, which is understandable, but I don’t think there’s anything I can say to alleviate your fear. I’ll have to demonstrate why your fright is groundless.”

She felt herself blush, but didn’t look away from him. “I loathe and detest this, you know.”

He turned and gathered her next to him. “I’ll not ask why you’re afraid, but I will say fear isn’t a bad thing. It’s our instinctual manner of avoiding pain, perhaps even death. No soldier goes into battle without a healthy dose of fear. We run from predatory animals because we fear them, but there’s no shame in self-preservation.” He held her closer. “You’ll have to trust me. Try and remember that I’m your husband, and hold you in high regard.” He paused, then added, “Perhaps it would help if you remember the library and put any other memories from your mind.”

“I’ll try. Thank you.”

He moved his hands to her head, carefully removed her hat and set it upon the low dressing table. Returning to her hair, he slowly removed the pins, lying each one aside before resuming the task. Eventually, her hair fell about her and he murmured, “Ah, beautiful. I’d hoped you hadn’t cut it.” His fingers combed through the curls, all the way to the ends, somewhere close to her waist.

A knock sounded at the door and he went to open it, allowing a maid to enter with a pail of steaming water. She poured it into the pitcher before she curtsied and left. Directly, Mr. Osgood arrived, along with another maid, who laid out a lovely repast on the small table to the opposite corner of the room. A bottle of wine was produced, opened and poured before the man and his helper inquired as to further instructions.

“I believe that will be all,” Blixford said. “You’ll see that my wife is not disturbed?”

“Of course,” he said with another wide smile. “My groom tells me you’re newly wed, Your Grace. May I offer felicitations?”

“Yes, thank you.”

At last, the man was gone and they were alone, once again.

Blixford turned from locking the door and walked a few steps into the room. “Come here, Jane.”

She did.

“Turn round.”

She did so without question and stood stock still while he moved her hair over her shoulder and began to unbutton her habit. When he was done, he slowly tugged the garment until it fell to her waist, then nudged it along until it went into a heap upon the floor around her feet. He bent and grasped the fabric. “Step out.” He took it to one of the chairs before the fireplace and laid it out carefully before he returned and bent to remove her boots. “These are unusual for a woman.”

Balancing herself with one hand upon his shoulder, she replied, “I have them made especially for riding. Most women’s riding boots are terribly inadequate.”

He rose, returned to her back, and loosened her stays, tossing them to land atop her habit. She was down to her shift, a fine lawn garment with dainty lace trim. Moving around her, he bent to one knee and lifted the shift to concentrate on her garters. He untied them slowly, his movements almost reverent, anticipatory. Her stockings followed, each rolled down in turn, and she lifted her foot that he could remove them entirely.

When he was done, he stepped back and devoured her with his gaze. “Just as I thought.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re lovely, Jane.” He reached for his cravat and removed it without fanfare before he shrugged out of his coat. “Does it occur to you that I may be nervous, as well?”

She watched him remove his waistcoat. “Not at all. You’re quite accomplished at this, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, “but not with you.” He met her gaze as he tossed the shirt toward the other chair by the fireplace. “You’ve already informed me you will find it humorous to see me without clothes, so I’m ready to take the humiliating plunge.”

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth, even while she stared openly at the expanse of his chest. He was very well formed, muscular and masculine, with a thatch of dark hair that followed a line down to the edge of his riding breeches. “I didn’t say I’d be amused, Blixford. I said it would be odd, that I would wonder at the peculiarity of seeing you naked.”

“Yes, I remember. Why was that, Jane? Because I’m a stick?”

“It was thoughtless of me to say so, and I’m quickly concluding that you’re not at all a stick. It’s merely an affectation.”

“Similar in nature to your bluster without blush, announcing to all within your sphere that you’re fearless.” He stood there, gazing at her. “I find I’m unable to complete the task of undressing. You’re going to laugh and I will be crushed with the indignity of it all.”